Good Dreams
by Quellesirel Peredhil
Summary: Kink Meme Challenge Fic. Challenge: Yanagi/Yukimura while Yukimura is sleeping. Sanada watches.


Sanada almost peed his pants when the creepy girl from the ring crawled out of the television set. He clutched at the black cap in his lap with white knuckles and wondered who the hell would voluntarily watch such a thing?

Your crazy teammates, Sanada reminded himself. Your crazy teammates who lost nationals. Still guilty, even though he won his match against the recovered Tezuka, Sanada watched horror movie after horror movie at the Rikkai-dai team sleepover. He didn't think for a moment that this practice could in a million years be considered fun. Even though Marui, Niou and Kirihara were huddled together on the floor with a bowl of popcorn laughing, putzing around and mimicking the voices of the dead and dying, this couldn't possibly fun.

A cold hand clasped Sanada's shoulder. He stiffened, turned around and screamed at the thing cloaked in the dark of the room with eyes that reflected the television…

"Would you like some soda, Sanada-kun?" Yagyuu asked, pushing up his glasses. The girl in the movie combed her hair inside of them.

"That's terrible for you," Sanada said to him. Yagyuu shrugged and sat down beside him.

"Genichirou, you're going to wake Seiichi," Yanagi scolded. He sat across the room on the couch. Yukimura had fallen asleep, snuggled tightly to Yanagi's arm. Sanada was both jealous and glad it was Yanagi and not himself; Yukimura had a tight grip.

"Hn," Sanada grunted.

Everyone was paying attention to the movie. Instead of giving himself permanent nightmares, Sanada studied the knit of Yukimura's brows. As the video's victim screamed, Yukimura moaned; he only knew it by neat "o" formed by his Captain's lips, since the horrible punishment droned everything else out. At first he thought Yukimura moaned in pain, but the way Yukimura's legs shifted together told him that the contrary was true. Yanagi needed to wake Yukimura before he embarrassed himself. Instead, the neglectful dataman watched the movie, unaffected as ever.

Sanada migrated to accompany Yanagi and Yukimura on the other couch. "Renji," he hissed, "You should wake Yukimura, he -- "

"I am taking care of it," Yanagi said, brown eyes visible for a change under his heavy eyelids.

"You're taking care of..." Sanada's eyes widened as he noted a peculiar lump in the blanket draped over Yukimura. "Tarundoru," he hissed lowly.

He was met with a chorus of shhh by his engrossed teammates. Yanagi adjusted the blanket such that Sanada, due to his particular angle, could see Yanagi's hand stuffed down his Captain's sweatpants. Yukimura's lips curled up in dream.

"…You call that a serve, Renoir," Yukimura murmured into Yanagi's shoulder, "I'll show you a serve…"

"Who's that?" Sanada said lowly to Yanagi. It would be a lie to say he wasn't jealous. Best friends were one thing, people Sanada had never heard of were entirely another.

"Seiichi has been talking about him for the last two weeks," Yanagi said evenly, as he drew Yukimura's cock from his sweatpants. "A French Impressionist, Pierre-Auguste Renoir celebrates the female sensuality in his work. He was born in -- "

"I don't want his life story," Sanada interrupted. "Just enough to -- "

"Know that he is not someone you can brutalize." How Yanagi could even speak while pleasing Yukimura by steadily fisting his slickened arousal, Sanada could never know. Shifting his eyes left and right, Sanada reached over Yanagi's lap to lend a helping hand only for it to be smacked sharply away. Yanagi studied him out of the corner of his eye, as if he were some sort of strange specimen.

Huffing, Sanada crossed his arms. So close, but yet so far. "I wasn't going to say that."

"No, but you thought it."

"Hn."

Sanada ceased entertaining thoughts of rescuing Yukimura from hands that were not his own and watched instead. The hands that stroked Yukimura formed the same strokes to beat him out in the literature final. They were long and lean with abrupt, square finger nails that were neatly cut. Sanada clasped his own hand in the bowl of his hat, wondering how Yanagi's hands would feel on him. While he imagined Yanagi's hand on his cock, he fantasized his own thick, calloused fingers pleasuring Yukimura. Except in his conception, both of them were calling his name instead of talking about some dead Frenchman.

"Ohhh," Yukimura's male soprano drew everyone's attention. Sanada flushed deeply and Yanagi's expression didn't change, save for a casual upturn of the lips. Yukimura unconsciously wiped his drool on Yanagi's practice jersey.

Guilt nagged at Sanada, tearing through his fantasy.

"This is wrong. He's sleeping. It's like rape," Sanada bit his lip, watching the color rise in Yukimura's cheeks. Sanada's protest did nothing to divert the attentions of Yanagi, who worked Yukimura's swollen erection diligently. Clinging to Yanagi's arm more tightly, he rocked eagerly into the data master's enabling palm. Yukimura's hair resembled the pliable ends of a well loved brush curled up against Yanagi's shoulder, except they wouldn't stain the fabric – there would be no lasting impression of the deed.

"He was humping me anyway. This is better," Yanagi said bluntly, pressing a thumb as blunt as his words into the slit of Yukimura's cock.

"He's still humping you," Sanada said. At least from any other angle, it looked like extremely enthused snuggling. Enthused snuggling that involved moaning.

"Mmm," Yanagi considered, squeezing Yukimura's arousal like part of the conversation. "But this way it will be over before the movie."

"So you are trying to avoid the long game, Renoir?" Yukimura's pristine nails dug half moons into Yanagi's bicep as he dreamed, "We'll see about that. I will take away all your senses…"

"What kind of tennis could he possibly play with a French Impressionist?" Sanada frowned, crossing his legs to hide his own arousal. "It cannot possibly be any sort of a challenge."

"Dreams do not have to be realistic, Genichirou. In Seiichi's head, perhaps Renoir is a better tennis player than you," Yanagi said, knowing how that might rile Sanada up. Sure enough, Sanada's eyebrows fused together over his nose. "Though I do not understand what Seiichi stands to gain from removing the senses of an artist he admires. After all, does art not stem from what one perceives?" Yanagi queried, more rhetorical than anything else. Yukimura answered him regardless with a low chorus of fuck yes.

Sanada was inclined to agree with Yukimura. "Dreams should at least have some basis on fact. …Art is both an internal and external process. Seiichi's tennis does not keep me from calligraphy," Sanada grabbed the mostly empty popcorn bowl on the floor and placed it in his lap. With a parasitic erection (stealing sense from every aspect of his person) tenting his pants, sitting cross legged was uncomfortable.

"If dreams have some basis on fact, tonight you might dream of getting a handjob from Samara while you watch Renoir paint Seiichi's tennis," Yanagi said. He leant down and whispered in his ear. "The long game isn't necessary, Seiichi. The data says go in for the kill."

As disturbing as that image was, his arousal persisted as Yukimura seemed to agree with Yanagi. There was no sense in a long game when the opponent could be quickly destroyed.

Yanagi twisted his wrist and Yukimura came all over Yanagi's hand shouting: "Always win, Rikkai-dai!"

An exclamation like that was too normal to draw anyone's attention from the movie.

"Hmm," Yanagi noised, tucking Yukimura's spent penis back into his pants fondly. "Always win, indeed."

"Aa," Sanada stammered, unable to say anything more eloquent, given what he just witnessed.

Covering Yukimura entirely with the blanket, he managed to slip his arm from the tight grip and wipe the sticky cum right over the Rikkai logo on Sanada's shirt. "I think I shall make tea," Yanagi grabbed the remaining popcorn from the bowl in Sanada's lap and chewed on it thoughtfully as he made his way to the kitchen.

Sanada was left with a dropped jaw until Yukimura shifted over to take his muscled arm prisoner. Never had there been a happier captive.

"...Six games to zero," Yukimura said, smiling and still sound asleep.


End file.
